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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23596207">One Last Shot</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/poetanddidntknowit34/pseuds/poetanddidntknowit34'>poetanddidntknowit34</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Spies Are Forever - Talkfine/Tin Can Brothers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M, Slow Burn, dumb au that no one asked for</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 08:07:12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>837</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23596207</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/poetanddidntknowit34/pseuds/poetanddidntknowit34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Curt Mega and Owen Carvour are both undercover as players in a cornhole tournament to bust a drug and weapons sale by Sergio Santos. The trick? Neither knows the other in undercover. Hijinks ensue as the two try not to blow their covers to each other, fall in love, and play cornhole.</p><p>Alternative summary: A really stupid AU no one asked for.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Owen Carvour/Agent Curt Mega</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>28</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>One Last Shot</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“You can’t be serious.” Curt Mega was standing in the middle of Cynthia Huston’s office, hands on his hips and a confused look on his face. “Oh, wait!” He said, then began to laugh. “It’s a joke! Very funny, Cynthia.” He clapped a hand on Susan’s shoulder to steady himself as he laughed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cynthia didn’t flinch--she continued to watch Curt giggle like the idiot he was. Then, in a calm, even voice, she said, “Curt Mega, when have you ever known me to make a fucking joke?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Curt stopped laughing immediately. “Cythnia, you can’t be serious. This is… it’s ridiculous!” He let go of Susan and straightened his suit jacket again, trying to find any hint in Cynthia’s face that she actually was joking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s absolutely fucking dumb is what it is, Curt.” Cynthia concended, sitting back in her chair and rubbing her temples. “But we have it on very good authority that if we want to nail Sergio Santos, this is the way to do it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Curt picked up the folder on Cynthia’s desk, flipping through the briefing and scanning the documents. “Yes, but a cornhole tournament?” He asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not just </span>
  <em>
    <span>any</span>
  </em>
  <span> cornhole tournament,” Susan said excitedly, flipping over a page and pointing at the words ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>Fifth Annual International Cornhole Invitation</span>
  </em>
  <span>’. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>The</span>
  </em>
  <span> cornhole tournament. It’s only the most important tournament of the season. Teams travel from all over the world to compete for the championship title and a chance to party with Santos in his mansion. It’s a coveted title and winning it will earn you incredible bragging rights.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Curt snapped the folder shut, giving Susan an incredulous look. “Why the fuck do you know that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Susan shrugged. “I really like cornhole.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course you do, you nerd.” Curt said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That party is the goal.” Cynthia said, getting the two men back on track. “Winning the tournament will get you an automatic invitation, but you’re uncoordinated as fuck, so you may have to try and get an invite some other way.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How?” Curt asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cynthia rolled her eyes. “I don’t fucking know, Curt, you’re the secret agent, not me. Figure it the fuck out.” Curt glared at her. “Fine.” She sighed, standing up and snatching the file out of his hands. “In here is a list of key players--people who have won the tournament in the past, close associates and invited guests of Santos, and security details. Befriend people, turn on that Mega charm, and get an invitation.” She handed the folder back to Curt. “Our sources tell us that the party is where Santos makes his biggest sales of weapons and drugs every year. You’re going to need to bust it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Curt skimmed the names in the file again. “I’ve never even played this game before. How am I supposed to win a tournament?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Susan will teach you.” Cynthia lit a cigarette, took a long drag and blew the smoke in Curt’s direction as she sat back down and propped her feet back up on the desk. “He’s been playing for years.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Susan beamed. “It’s an easy game, but it requires a lot of practice.” He said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh. Great.” Curt said, not bothering to hide the sarcasm from his voice. “Isn’t this a team game, though?” He asked. “How am I going to be allowed to play without a partner?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, now that’s the fun part.” Cynthia laughed. “Santos does his tournament a little differently. He’s absolutely batshit, and none of the players are allowed to sign up in a team. Everyone is invited as an individual player, and he assigns the teams at random.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Curt pinched the bridge of his nose. “So I’m supposed to be working closely with a stranger, and trying to keep my cover AND trying to win an invitation to a party?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bingo.” Cynthia said, ashing her cigarette. “So there’s lots of fun to be had by all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who’s my partner?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cynthia tossed another file onto the desk. Curt picked it up and flipped it open to reveal a single piece of paper. “Owen Carvour.” Cynthia said. “He’s British and it’s his first time competing. We don’t have a lot of information on him, though. He doesn’t have an online presence or a lot of records past his college years. But, cornhole nerds rarely go outside, so...” She shrugged.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Curt scanned the page. There were no photos of Owen or any information to hint at his personality or profession. “This is gonna be tough.” Curt sighed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No one said being an agent would be easy.” Cynthia shrugged. “But this is an extremely important mission, and you’re the best man for the job.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Curt smirked. “Then I’m on the case.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He turned to leave, and Cynthia gave him a small smile back. “Oh and Curt?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I won’t fuck it up.” Curt laughed, slipping out the door and back into the hall. He had three months to learn how to play this game, and three months to turn himself into enough of a cornhole expert to fool even his teammate.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Follow me on Tumblr at @abuginahumanbody</p></blockquote></div></div>
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